Darkness Darkness
by StupidityIsStupid
Summary: Why is Kenny wanted by two different mercenary groups? What could he have that's so special to them? And who is Ryan? And why can't Kenny seem to stay away from him? Debating over making it a romance or not. Rated M now for future...things...
1. The Start of it All

**Author's Note:** Hey, new story I'm working on. I just got this idea in my head and I hope it ends up alright. I'm still working on It's Always the Last Place You Look and I'll try to update both stories on a somewhat regular basis.

Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. As do the characters.

(Present) Kenny's POV:

"It's not safe!" he screamed. He threw some clothes in my general direction and motioned for me to pack. I started folding them and he groaned and rushed over. He pushed me out of the way and started to shove the garments into my tattered suitcase. When it was almost overflowing we closed and zipped it.

He grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the room. In our hurry we ran into the other guy, I forget his name, and he cursed under his breath. We heard the door open and he, the guy holding my arm, swore. We quickly went down the staircase into the small basement where I was shoved against a wall with the brunette standing over me.

I shuddered finally understanding how far in I truly was. And as we saw flashlight beams pass under the door and heard the scuffling of heavy boot, I realized that I wouldn't be able to get out. Not this time.

XXX

_Flashback_

I can still remember the day he left. That was the day that we went from being the "Fucking Fantastic Four" to the "Teary-eyed Trio." His leaving us was a shock. It had been the last thing we expected. He had been the one that had always ended up doing the right thing at the end of each day. Did he think that leaving us was the correct choice to make? Were we nothing to him? Just another group of friends that he could take a shine to and then run off?

I've never really wondered why he had gone. I thought it had something to do with his parents. They wanted him to be the best that he could possibly be. And I'm not sure who made the decision to put the For Sale sign up, but it really didn't matter, anyways. All that mattered was that he was going away. Away to some high class, fancy-smancy, hoity toity private boarding school. And I would never see him again.

And, I mean, it wasn't like we hung out that much. We saw each other at the bus stop in the mornings, but for some reason we never really matched up. Him and his friend, they were perfect for each other. I was just the extra in our group. The perverted boy in an orange parka that died nearly every day. I was nothing, really, to them.

Now, we still meet at the same spot. We take a different bus, though, to the high school. South Park doesn't have one, so we have to travel twenty minutes to North Park. Our parents keep asking us why we haven't made any new friends. Apparently they don't understand that North Park hates us. They hate everything that has to do with South Park. It's been a rivalry since before the two towns were even built. It's almost as bad as the Denver/South Park contention. Now that's been going on since the dinosaurs. It's like God created humans and then said, "You will create two towns by the names of South Park and Denver. They will hate each other and nothing will make it better! And it's all for my personal entertainment!" You know? Now that I think about it, I can really see God saying that. He's more of a douche than the Bible let's on. I mean, seriously, He let's me die and brings me back to life again only to kill me again. And it usually hurts. Sometimes I wonder if he gets off on blood or death or something. Maybe I'll ask him next time he wants to take me. Again.

Crap. I got a little off subject, didn't I? I tend to do that. Especially when I'm high. Or just plain horny. Which is pretty often. I guess since I'm already talking I should explain the current situation that we're in.

Ever since Kyle went away, Stan slowly faded back into the Goth scene. The last time he had done that was when he was eight and Wendy broke up with him. Butters had managed to convince him to leave the group. This time, however, no one could persuade him. He was too upset about his Super Best Friend leaving him—even though he left all of us—and we realized he was too far gone to be saved.

When I say, _we_, I mean Cartman and I. Although I shouldn't consider us as _us_, since he's only been hanging out with me more since he doesn't have Kyle to rip on anymore. And Stan isn't fun to make fun of. So that leaves me. Every conversation starts with, "Hey poor boy." I'm starting to understand how Kyle felt being called a Jew every day by the fatass. I know that he uses me. I'm his little messenger boy. I get to run his errands, also known as getting drugs from the local druggie.

I forgot his name, but I know he has Down's syndrome. I heard something about him giving Jimmy steroids a few years ago. I doubt it's just a rumor considering what he has stashed under his porch. He can't handle a gun to save his life, though. I, being the messenger, have been shot many times by him. But only because his first shot was off aim. I ended up in Hell with two bullets in my left arm, one in my leg, and three in my stomach. Fucking painful. And that bastard God made me suffer for three hours, twenty-two minutes, and five seconds. I know because I counted. It got my mind off the pain.

No one else was affected that badly. Wendy never really cared for Kyle. And Bebe got over not seeing his, and I quote, "Godamn luscious, squeezable, Jewish ass." Now she's got her eyes on Clyde who has the rugged good looks. And on top of that, he's able to get her free shoes. I swear I'll never be able to understand chicks.

For three years now we've lived without him. We moved on, or at least I did. I still miss him every now and then, but I really don't have to time to think about my past friendships when I'm going to the club every other night.

But maybe I should explain where I am now and how I got here. After all, I'm sure you're all wondering.


	2. Displays of Sorts

**Author's Note:** Alright, I'm introducing a new character to the story. I didn't mean for it to take this long to update, but now that I'm finally out of school, I'll be more consistent. Please please review. The magical cookie fairies will give you imaginary cupcakes if you do. =D Thanks! Also, remember that the story is in Kenny's POV and the next few chapters are one big flashback. Soon I'll get into Kenny's current situation, but not quite yet. Thanks, again!

_Saturday, July 1__st_

It was three days before Independence Day when all my current problems started to arise. The walk downtown was filled with squeals of joy, groans of disappointment, and too many people to count, many of them from out of town. There were people selling firecrackers, both legal and illegal, under large white tents that fell down whenever the wind speed increased. I saw one collapse onto Mr. Tweak while he was taking coffee outside. And speaking of which, who the Hell drinks coffee during the summer? Seriously, it's bad enough when the sun burns your skin—even though that's natural—but you'd think that if someone could avoid scalding another body part, (e.g. mouth), then they'd stay away from hot liquids. Besides, it's almost ninety-three degrees out here. Anyways, back on subject, the tent fell on Mr. Tweak and he spilled his coffee all over the white fabric. They put it back up, but now there's a large dark brown stain on the flap leading in.

Some people just don't see what the big deal about fireworks is. They ask me what's so cool about watching things explode in the air? It always too loud and the colors are too bright, etcetera. Well, allow me to explain why the residents of South Park, mainly the kids, will suffer through nine months of school instead of committing suicide just for July Fourth. It's the one time of year, besides New Year's Eve, where we can be as loud as we want without people calling the cops. Also, it's fucking awesome getting to blow things up. It's pretty much the only time that we can light explosives and watch them explode over our neighbor's houses. Besides that, two adults, I won't name who, coughJimboandNedcough, know a place in Mexico where the chicks are hot, the beer is cold, and the fireworks are either free or a discounted price. They find the best ones, like Black Cats and Roman Candles, and smuggle them back over the border into Colorado. Then they distribute them to the shop owners to sell for a little extra money. On the night of the fourth, we set all of them up and watch them go off. It's very pretty, but the noise kills your eardrums.

I was sitting on my front porch, or, what I called a front porch—it was nothing more than a couple rotting pieces of termite infested wood—as I watched the night sky fill with colorful explosions. Suddenly, my view was blocked by a figure I didn't recognize. He sat down on the curb in front of me, not seeming to care that he was ruining the best day of my life.

Ok, maybe I'm being a little melodramatic. He wasn't really in the way. And this definitely wasn't the best day of my life. But he couldn't just plop down in front of me and think it was ok! It wasn't like he owned the streets. Although, I guess I didn't, either…But, still…

"Hey!" I shouted. He looked up and scanned my face. He licked his top lip just slightly before asking if I had a problem. "Yeah," I replied. "You."

He stood up. He wasn't very tall, maybe five foot ten, but he had this aura about him and I knew he could kick my ass if he wanted to. But he just mumbled a 'sorry' and started to walk away. Before he left, though, he took something out of his pocket and I watched as a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. I bent down and picked it up, unfolding it so I could read.

_303-674-8853_

…The fuck? He gave me his number? God, what a slut. I frowned and wadded the paper up, chucking it into the nearest trash can as I continued to watch the display.

"Well, that wasn't very nice."

I jumped up only to see that the guy hadn't left.

"I pour out my heart and soul and you throw it away?" His eyes widened and I noticed that they were a color you can only get when you mix green and blue together. Sort of sea foam green. It didn't look natural. He probably wore contacts or something. "That's just cold."

"Your number doesn't seem too soulful, to me. Sorry," I bit. Two could play at this game.

"Who said it was my number?" he asked calmly.

_Touché._ "Well…I just assumed-"

"-Don't assume. It makes an ass of you and me, Kenny." His eyes widened again as he heard the words that had slipped from his mouth.

I stared in shock. "Ho-how do you know my n-name?" I asked. This guy was creeping me out and I wanted some kind of explanation.

He swallowed. "What are you talking about? I don't know your name. We just met."

I wasn't having any of it. "You just said, 'Kenny'."

He faked surprise. "Is-is that your name?"

"Don't play stupid with me, prick. Who are you?"

He smiled sweetly. "I'm-"

We were interrupted by a buzzing noise. He stiffened and reached into his pocket, pulling out an overused and out-of-date cell phone. He flipped it open and offered a hesitant 'hello?'

I watched as his expression went from happy to confused to fearful in a matter of seconds. He saw me looking at him and smiled, but I could tell it was forced. He mouthed an apology to me and turned around. He continued to listen to the voice on the other end.

"I thought that _was _what I was doing!" he screamed into the receiver. There was a short pause before he spoke again. "Well, I'm so sorry. I never realized that you were God! Should I bow down to your feet, now, oh Lord Almighty?...No." His voice went down a couple octaves and his shoulders slumped. "Y-you're su-…okay. Okay, I heard you the first time. I'm on my way over…Yeah, I know I do…Bye."

He closed the phone and looked at me worriedly. I noticed that his hair was a light brown with streaks of red, the after-affects of a bad hair dye. His eyes looked sullen and his cheeks were hollow. "I-I have to go. Something just came up. It was nice meeting you."

He turned and I made sure that he actually walked away. I didn't want to be caught unaware like last time. As he made his way down the street, I saw a car pull up behind him. Two forms exited and one of them yelled at the teenager in a foreign language. It sounded like French, but I couldn't be too sure. The other 'tsk-tsked' and shook his head. They all got into the car and, for some odd reason, I didn't take my eyes off of it until it had rounded the curve and escaped my view.

It took me all night to realize what had weirded me out so much. It hadn't been the stranger. It was the fact that I never walked away. I never left. I could've gone away while he was on the phone. But I stayed. And even after all these months, I don't have an excuse.


	3. Important

Hey everyone, I'm really sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time. I've been really busy with some home life problems and homework. (Yes, homework. I have to do it to get into Advanced Sophomore English.) I'm not purposely ignoring my stories; I just haven't had time to work on them. I really hoped to finish Darkness Darkness and It's Always the Last Place You Look over the Summer, but that probably won't happen. So, I'm just gonna put them on hiatus until I can get some free time. Once again, I am truly sorry. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me. Please continue reviewing, because I will be able to check in every now and then; I just won't be able to update. Again, thanks and sorry.

Peace and Love,

StupidityIsStupid


	4. This is the Life

_**Author's Note:**_ So, I've decided to make this story a multi-point-of-view thing. It's mainly gonna be this guy here, Ryan, and Kenny, but I might throw in a couple other characters as well.

POV: Ryan

I sat as still as rock as Zane was yelling at me. His knuckles were turning white from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. If he had been a cartoon character I'm sure smoke would have been coming out of all his facial orifices. And I'd be holding an Acme sign that said, 'HELP'.

"You fucking idiot! You could've keeled us all!"

Matt seemed to be getting off of the constant verbal blows that were coming at me and did what he could to coax more out.

"Yeah, Bro', I guess you aren't ready for this." He 'tsk-tsked' a couple of times which almost annoyed me more than his constant bitching.

"I never said I was ready for this!" I whispered harshly.

"It's been three fucking years! How could you not be ready!?"

Instead of answering, I glared at my phone, like it was the one responsible for my slip-up. My one stupid slip-up. I can't believe I called him 'Kenny'.

"You spoke heez name," Zane told me. I swear to God, he's a mind reader.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I truly was sorry, but I hate apologizing for things. It just seems pointless. An apology doesn't change anything, only justifies that something wrong was done.

"'Sorry' won't cut it this time, Bro'," Matt said, smirking. He looked over at Zane as if he expected him to punish me with a whip or something. And considering him, that thought didn't surprise me.

"I think he should be reprimanded," he spoke thoughtfully. He glanced upwards as if he was deep in thought and I heard Zane groan.

"I can't do anytheeng about him because I'm a bit too beezy driving." I couldn't see his face, but I swear he rolled his eyes. "Idiots," he added.

Matt frowned out the windshield and I glared at my phone for the rest of the trip, still hoping it could somehow shoulder some of the blame.

Maybe I should've started with who I am. My name's Ryan. But that isn't actually my name. I can't tell anyone who I am because it would break the code. You see, I'm a mercenary.

Yes, I have killed people. A lot. But I don't feel bad about it because they were going to kill me. Yeah, the first time I did it I totally freaked out afterwards, but after a few more times, it's become almost as easy as breathing. I'll admit that I do mess up every now and then, though.

I guess I should also explain what just happened with Kenny. How do I know his name? I don't seem like a resident of South Park. You can just call me a stalker; it's easier than trying to explain. Well, actually, telling the _truth_ would be easier, but if I told anyone who I was, I'd have to kill them. And that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid with Kenny.

Let me explain. I used to live in South Park. I had a small group of friends throughout the years of elementary school and middle school. We kind of split up during seventh grade, which I take most of the blame for. If I hadn't gotten drunk and thrown myself all over Tweek at his birthday party, then we'd all be the best of friends. Yes, I came onto a guy. I'm not gay, I was just extremely drunk. And, yes, I was only twelve when I got truly wasted. Pounding head and next-day-amnesia and all. Shocking, huh? But, if you were a resident of South Park, you'd be more surprised at the fact that I didn't get smashed earlier in life.

In high school we reformed our group and managed to stay somewhat sane for all four years, with some off-and-on breakups. During our Senior year, though, right before graduation, my bitch of a mother decided to send me to Harvard. But there was abso-fucking-lutely no fucking way I was going there. Yeah, they would've admitted me in a heartbeat, but I didn't want to go to some Ivy League school. I didn't fight her though, because, honestly, she scares the living crap out of me.

_I was walking home on June fifth when two people pulled me aside. One was a scruffy guy with ripped jeans and chains. He was smoking a cigarette and held a pack in his left hand while his right hand's fingers were curled around the handle of a shovel. I recognized him, but I couldn't put a name to the face. The other guy, who had blonde hair and also looked familiar, stood next to a brick wall chewing a piece of bubblegum. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and blew a bubble._

_"Hello," the first guy said in a French accent. "I'm Zane. That's Matt." He spoke my name and asked me something that changed my life. "Join us?" He explained what he was and I pretty much freaked out. The choice was to either join his mercenary group or have to be on a constant watch for someone waiting to kill me._

_"Why me?" I asked._

_He simply answered that I was a great fighter. "And smart," Matt added. "Except we'll have to work on your niceness."_

_"His niceness is fine," Zane retaliated. "It's what's gonna help us the most!"_

_"How?" Matt bit. I could tell that we were going to be the best of friends._

_"He'd be able to get closer to victims without freaking them out. If you haven't noticed, he's actually human."_

_"Yeah, I am human," I broke in._

_Both guys turned to me and yelled a quick, 'Shut-up!'_

_They continued bickering while I looked for a way out of the predicament. I saw an open spot that lead away, but only took about three steps before a shovel had been put to my throat and I'd been thrown against a wall._

_"What the fuck!?" I shouted angrily. "What the Hell is wrong with you, you sick fucker!?"_

_"Last chance," the brunette whispered. "Join or die." _

_He pushed the shovel further in, but I didn't feel any blood come out, thank God. I realized that he had been completely serious. He would kill me with out a second glance._

"_Join," I grunted. I really didn't want to die, yet._

That was about three years ago, and ever since then, I've been with Matt and Zane, hanging out at the old warehouse in South Park. My mom thinks I'm so busy at Harvard that I can't get a free moment to talk to her. And my friends think I went to a boarding school overseas. In actuality I've been in town ever since then.

Recently, we've been having some troubles with an enemy group. A lot has been happening between us, but to make a really long story a lot shorter, they want Kenny. Why? He can die and come back to life. They plan on using him for his 'powers' to unite with Satan and his minions. So, here I am, following him everywhere, making sure no one gets a hold of him. Me saying his name was a complete mistake, so I'll have to rethink my 'Save Kenny McCormick' plan. What a life, huh?

Matt turned his frown towards me and mouthed 'fuck you.'

_Yep, this is the life,_ I thought sarcastically as we arrived at our hideout.

**_Author's Note:_** Did anyone figure out who Ryan was? I think it's pretty obvious. I gave lots of little hints throughout this chapter and the one before. And does anyone know who Zane and Matt are? Zane should be pretty easy to figure out, but I didn't give much information about Matt. Also, I'm sorry the chapter is so short. I hope on making the next one longer, but I doubt that will happen. Please review!


	5. That Kind of Day

**Author's Note:** Not a very exciting chapter, but it's longer than the other ones. Barely. I know where I want it to go, but I'm not sure how I'm going to write the next chapter to make it work out. So don't expect an update right away, even though I will try my hardest.

* * *

POV: Ryan

I trudged along and absentmindedly kicked at the ground as Zane stuck the key in the lock. When I looked up, I saw that Matt was still scowling, although, not at me. Instead, he was facing forward and it took me a moment to realize he was looking at the back of Zane's figure. I didn't think much of it.

We went into the warehouse and I flipped a light switch, suddenly drowning the room in a flickering, yellow-tinged light. Matt took a seat on the only chair we had, so I was stuck sitting on the cold, cement floor. Zane continued to stand with his arms crossed and his lips pressed tightly together while stealing glances at me.

"What?" I finally asked, getting fed up with the silence and looks I was getting.

He ran a hand through his hair. "What caused you to do it?" he asked.

I shrugged. I honestly didn't know.

"Come on, Bro'. There must have been a reason," he pressed.

"Yeah, I thought you were the smart one. Why don't you start acting like it?" Matt added, smiling.

God, I could kill the asshole without thinking twice about it. I'd pull a Mafia tongue tie on him, with my own twist. I'd rip his goddamn testicles out, since he never uses them, feed them to him, slit his throat, pull them out, and choke him with his own body parts.

Instead of tacking him to the ground, like I so wanted to do, I stuck with giving him the evilest glare I could muster up. I must not have been very good because all he did was roll his eyes and snicker behind his hand.

Yeah, like a _hand_ could protect him from me. As if.

"Well?" Zane continued prodding.

"It was a shock, I suppose," I answered.

"How so?"

"I had-haven't seen him in years. It was weird knowing him, but knowing he didn't know me, even though he does know me. You know?"

"I guess…You'll still have to figure out--"

He was cut off by the shrill sound of a telephone ringing. Everyone froze. No one should have been calling here. It was an unlisted number and according to the records, no one even lived here. Zane slowly picked it up, halting the noise, and motioned for us to stay quiet. He put the receiver next to his ear and was silent a moment. Even though no one was making a sound, I couldn't hear the voice on the other end.

"Who may I ask is calling?" Zane asked in his sweetest voice. He frowned. "No, I'm sorry, no one by that description lives here…Uh-huh. I'm sorry…You, too…Alright, good-bye." He gently set down the phone and turned to face us.

"Who was that?" Matt asked. I nodded.

Instead of answering, Zane chose to take a couple strides towards me and suddenly my face was hurting and something was tricking onto my shirt.

"What the _fuck_ was _that_ for, asswipe!?" I screamed.

"Guess who called?" he asked me, sneering.

I thought about it for a moment, and then it dawned on me.

"Oh, shit. I'm s—I didn't me—Shit," I stumbled for an apology.

Matt finally caught on and I watched out of the corner of my now swollen eye as he bent over in fits of laughter.

"Oh my God! You gave him the number? Why the fuck would you do that!?" Matt screamed at me. Actually, he was laughing too hard to form coherent sentences, so all I heard was gasps and a couple half-words here and there.

"…I didn't mean to."

"You don't _accidentally_ give someone your number!" Zane shouted. Damn, he was extremely pissed.

But seriously, come on, cut me some slack, would ya? It's not like I meant to.

"I didn't mean to," I mumbled, again. All that got me was more snickers and a cold glare.

"You're on watch tomorrow night," he told me, suddenly changing the subject.

"What?" I asked, dumbfounded. "What about Kenny? The number?"

He winced, but shook his head. "No use crying over spilt milk, right?" He offered a small smile. I don't know why people have such a big problem with him. Sure, he is pretty intimidating, but spend some alone time with him and you see he's a pretty cool guy. When he wants to be.

"You're letting him get off?"

I can't say that much for Matt, though.

"Do I look like I'm getting off, _Matthew_?" I asked him. I made a scene of looking down at my pants, and, yep, sure enough, they were still on.

"At least I know how to get off!" Matt shot back.

"Okay," I replied. "But why should I waste my time getting off, when I'm instead getting it on?"

"If you two don't SHUT UP I will personally castrate you and make you eat your own GODDAMN dicks!!"

That shut us up.

Zane was a bit calmer. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to bed and I suggest you both do the same."

"I'm not sleeping with that fucker," Asshole muttered.

"Who said I would ever sleep with you?" I asked. "I'm not gay."

"Dammit, this is the only room we have, idiot," Zane spoke slowly, like he was scolding a child.

"Well, then, I think Ryan could sleep outside."

"SHUT IT!" We turned towards the sound. "No one is sleeping with each other! No one is sleeping outside! Both of you, stop acting like fucking kids and go to bed before I rip your heads off!!"

"But--" I started.

"Don't!" Zane warned. "Just…don't."

Matt raised an eyebrow at me as Zane stomped off to a corner where he all but threw himself on the ground. "What the Hell is stuffed up _his_ ass?"

I shrugged. "Your dick, most likely," I whispered. I held my breath and prayed to God he hadn't heard me. He glared, but said nothing.

"Good night," he said.

"Night."

This night was anything _but_ good.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, something felt different. You know those days when you know everything's either gonna suck or else it will all go your way, but you don't know exactly which way your luck will lean? Yeah? That was the day I was having.

I popped a couple slices of bread into the toaster and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

_We really need a new toaster_, I thought.

When the bread came up, I was happy to see that it was a dark golden, just how I liked it, and I knew that my day would be good.

That is, until Matt came and took both pieces. Suddenly, the tides had turned.

"Son of a bitch. What the fuck, man?"

He stuck out his tongue and slowly chewed. Oh, God that looked so good. Not him eating my breakfast like he was making love to it, but the food he was holding in his hand. I dove for it. Apparently I caught him off guard because his knees buckled and we both tumbled to the floor.

"Damn…" He rubbed the back of his head. He hit it? Good.

I reached up for the edge of the table to pull myself up. All I ended up grabbing was the cord to the toaster. And it was falling down. I figured I wasn't going to die since my life wasn't flashing before my eyes and nothing was moving in slow motion. When it landed, I heard a small snap, and pieces were all over the floor.

"Shit!" I cursed. "Shit shoot shit! Fuck!"

"Oh, man," Matt's eyes widened. He hopped up. "Sucks for you." He waved. "Hey Zany."

I stole a look behind me, and sure enough, there he was. He said nothing about the mess on the ground, just stepped around it and sat on the chair. The nice thing about Zane is he's not a morning person. He acts like he's partly comatose and does nothing between six and nine. That's about three hours for us to make all the mistakes we want, until he actually wakes up and snaps at one of us.

"What happened?" he yawned.

"Matt stole my toast." Yeah, I was whining, what of it?

"Then make some more," he mumbled.

"There _is_ no more. That was the last of the food!"

"Well, then, go get some more," Zane grumbled. He handed me a hundred dollar bill and I didn't say anything about it since he probably wouldn't remember it later. He's _that_ oblivious in the mornings.

"Thanks," I muttered as I walked out towards the car. A Jaguar XF10.

_Why do we have a nice car, but can't seem to get a nice place to stay?_ I wondered.

I parked the car by the sidewalk and walked into the grocery store where I was greeted by the brightest fluorescent light known to man. Anything brighter and you'd think you were in Heaven about to meet God. Who, by the way, is freaky looking. I'm not making that up; I really have met him. When I was eight, I believe. Because my good friend was being an impatient idiot.

Damn…I miss him.

I scowled as I made my way up and down the aisles with the shopping cart, throwing things in at random. I don't shop using a list. I just grab whatever I think we need or we don't have at the moment. We don't have any baby shampoo? Better grab a couple bottles. No tampons? Better get some just in case a girl on her period stays over. I'm that bad at shopping.

I glanced over at the wall behind me and upon seeing an orange jacket, practically screamed.

The guy turned around and I was face to face with Kenny.

* * *

POV: Kenny

I raised my eyebrow. This kid in front of me was acting like a total spaz, constantly looking around, but never at me. When I caught a glimpse of his blue-green eyes, I gasped.

"Hey," I said cautiously, "I know you."

He looked scared. "Well,_ I_ don't know_ you_," he replied.

"Yeah," I continued. "You're that one guy…"

"Well, that eliminates all the girls I could've been," he muttered.

"...during the fireworks…"

"Ok, you've got the who, somewhat, and the where. What's the weapon?" he asked.

"I'm not playing Clue," I said angrily. "I'm trying to remember who you are."

"I never told you."

"No?" I tried to remember. "No, you didn't."

Wait, did he just admit to being the guy I talked to last night? What. The. Hell?

He stuck out his hand. "My name's R--"

A phone started ringing.

"Christ." He opened up a cell phone and grumbled a small 'hello?' into it. He sighed dramatically and mouthed, 'son of a bitch.'

"Mm-hm…yep…You're having spaghetti!…That's so not fair…No, I don't have a weak stomach…Lasagna? That's worse!...Dammit, fine…Fine. Meatballs?...Yeah, I'll be there shortly…Bye…Oh stop rubbing it in, asshole…_Good_-bye."

He flipped the phone shut.

"We're having someone over for dinner, and I'll have to miss it." He looked sincerely upset.

He started to stroll away, and I yelled. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

He motioned with his arms. "To pay."

"You never told me your name."

He smiled. "I have a feeling you'll know it soon enough. See ya around Kenny."


	6. Beer, Boobs, and Brawn Mix Well

_**Author's Note:**_ Sorry for the wait....I know how I'm gonna write the next chapter, but it won't be up for another week or so since I won't be near a computer. Sorry....

* * *

POV: Kenny

Ok, this is really starting to piss me off. You'd think that the invincible, hot, freak child, named Me, could figure out who the goddamn guy stalking said invincible, hot, freak child, was. Although, I guess I wouldn't consider it stalking since I ran into him those two times. But, still. He knows my name. He might even know where I live! Although, pretty much everyone knows that. Once, again, still…He also said something about seeing me around. And seriously, what the fuck is that guy's problem!? He acts like a freak! He must've escaped from the circus or something. And where the Hell did he get his hair dyed? If I didn't know better, I'd say he did it himself. And now I am starting to sound like a girl. It's probably _his_ fault.

Ok, so I figure he lives in South Park. It's a small town. How hard could it be to find out where he lives? Maybe…Maybe someone from school knows him! Maybe Stan can tell me who he is!

Why do I seem so obsessed?

…Nevermind. I'm off to find Stan. And I pray to Satan (since God doesn't listen to my wishes) that he can give me some kind of information.

XXX

"Hi Mrs. Marsh," I greeted.

"Hello Kenny. Stan's up in his room if you want to see him."

"Mm-hmm," I nodded. I smiled at the set of perfect boobs in front of me, bobbing up and down as Stan's hot mom pointed up the stairs and motioned me in.

I followed after her and kept on grinning, until I saw her put her hands on her hips.

"Kenny. Hey Kenny," she snapped her fingers in front of my face, bringing me out of my daze, "My face is up here."

I looked up, and mouthed an apology, before my eyes drifted down again.

"Kenny!" She looked like she wanted to slap me, which I wouldn't have minded. Angry Stan's mom is hella hot.

…Oh God. I sound like eight year old Cartman.

She didn't however, and I think I died a little on the inside.

"Stan! Kenny's here to see you!"

A voice drifted down the stairs. "I thought I told you that my name is Raven!"

Oh, Jesus Christ. Goth Stan. I get to deal with Goth Stan, excuse me, I mean _Goth Raven, _and his constant bitching about conformists and misery in his heart. Cartman just calls it crap. Much easier to say than conformist.

Stan stood at the top of the steps, wearing all black. I swear to fucking God, if he's wearing makeup, I will personally kill him. He waves to me, but continues to frown.

What's his problem? I have worse problems than him. I'm being stalked, for Christ's sake.

We head up to his room and he closes the door. Well, slams seems like the better word.

I couldn't help myself. "What's up your ass, Stan?"

He glared, and I saw a small amount of dark blue eyeshadow. I made a mental note to buy him something extra manly for his birthday. A jock strap, perhaps?

"Raven," he growled.

"Crow," I replied.

"Dammit Kenny. My name's Raven!"

"And my name's Kenneth, but you don't hear everyone calling me that. I'll call you whatever I want…Dumbass."

He flipped me off and sat on his bed. I followed suit and turned towards him.

"What have the non-goths done to make you so pissed?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

He shifted ever so slightly before looking at me. I saw that he was confused, worried, and thoughtful about something. I'm pretty good at reading facial expressions.

"Hey," I said, a bit more gently. I put my hand on his shoulder, only to have him shrug it off. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he bit. "Everything. I'm goth so everything is wrong! So just fucking DROP it!"

I stood up. "You know what? I was going to be nice and listen to _Raven's_ problems, but I've realized that I don't have to put up with this shit!"

He reached out, but when he only grabbed air, his hand fell back into his lap.

"Don't go," he whispered. "I'll tell you what's wrong."

I continued to stand. "What?"

"It's Wendy," he confessed.

"Too conformist? Too much of a hippie? Did she buy something from Abercrombie and Fitch?"

"She wants to go back out," he murmered.

I stared at him in shock. "What?"

"I said, she wants to go--"

"I heard you the first time, dumbo. When?"

"She called me this morning," he answered. He shook his head. "What should I do, Kenny?"

"I don't know…Do you still love her?"

Damn, my feet are starting to hurt. I should've sat down.

He takes a minute to answer. "I don't think so," he answers cautiously.

"Well, then, what's so hard?" I ask, confused.

"Because what if I _do_ love her!?" he screams.

"How does she make you feel?" I wondered aloud. "Does she make your knees go weak and does your stomach feel like it's full of butterflies wanting to escape?"

"I don't know!"

I sighed. "Oh, trust me Stan, you'd know."

God, my legs are numb right now.

"So, I don't love her?" he questioned.

I really need to sit down.

"I should let her know that I'm not going to go back to being her boyfriend? Right?" he continued, laying down on the bed.

Shit, I was gonna sit there. I nod, looking for a chair or something. I can feel the blood rushing to my legs and it's making them feel swollen.

He sits back up and stands next to me. I get ready to dive towards the bed, but before I can make my first step, he's got me locked in a death grip.

"Thanks, dude!" he practically shouts in my ear.

I lift my arms to hug him back and whisper, "You're welcome."

He suddenly lets go and looks at me in surprise. "Why did you come here? We're not on best terms right now, so what's up?"

I resist the urge to say, 'The ceiling' and instead tell him all about the creeper.

"Freaky," he says quietly after I finish.

"I know! What the fuck should I do!?"

"I'm not sure. He hasn't done anything to you, has he?" Stan asked worriedly.

"No, nothing. But he's scaring me a little," I admit.

"I don't know what you should do." His eyes light up. "What if we just have a night of forgetting?"

"Huh?" I'm confused.

"My parents are heading out soon to go to some dinner thing. Wanna get drunk?"

Alcohol. Hmmm….doesn't sound that bad.

"Why not?" I decide.

"Cool."

He opens the door and shouts, "When are you guys leaving, again!?"

"Right now! Randy, do you have the keys? Bye Stan! Kenny!"

"Bye Mrs. Marsh!" I yell back.

After we watch them drive around the corner, and we're sure that they're not turning back around, we rush down to the kitchen. Stan opens a cupboard up and pulls out a case of Fat Tire beer. Not the best stuff, if you ask me, but we're just planning on getting wasted, so who the Hell cares?

I welcome the burning sensation in the back of my throat and sigh dramatically.

Approximately five bottles later, we're both sitting with our legs splayed out and our backs against the couch. We're staring intently at the TV, which is playing the most recent episode of The Teletubbies.

"Dude," Stan breathes after the show is over. "That was fuck—fucking DEEP."

"Tot—totally, man!" I scream. Even though he's right next to me. He doesn't seem to mind, though.

He grabs the remote and changes the channel. Or attempts to. We both hear a strange ringing coming from the device and Stan puts it up to his ear.

"Maybe it's POSSESSED!" I hiccup and that sends Stan into a fit of laughter.

"Ssh!" he tells me to be quiet. "HELLO?...YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL!"

I giggle at the hypocricy. Then I freak out. Someone's yelling at Stan? How dare they! I grab the remote from him and begin to yell into it.

"DON'T talk to MY man like THAT! Ok!?....No! You don't TALK! You are nothing but a TV changer!" I press some buttons, hoping to turn the TV off, but all I succeed in doing is creating a high pitched buzzing in my ear.

"St—Stan? STAN!? I'm SO SORRY! I broke IT!" I'm sobbing now and the ebony haired kid next to me is shaking me.

"CALM DOWN! KENNY!? Can you HEAR ME?" He was screaming into my face now, and I saw some spit running down his chin.

"I CAN HEAR YOU!" I sob. "DON'T _HURT_ ME! I'M SORRY!"

"Oh SHIT! AM I HURTING YOU!?" he drops his arms around my waist and pulls me close. He's hugging me, I realize.

"Dude…Are—are we GAY?" I ask.

"Wh—what!? NO! I have WENDY!"

"DUDE! You AREN'T WITH HER!"

His eyes widen in shock. "Oh GOD! I don't have a GIRLFRIEND! I AM GAY!"

"No! I WON'T LET YOU!" I scream. "I'm able to come BACK to LIFE! Maybe I HAVE SOME MAGICAL POWERS!"

"You THINK!?"

"TOTALLY! I her—hereby say that SATAN--"

"KENNY! My NAME ISN'T SATAN!" he shouts at me.

"SHIT! SORRY! I meant STAN! I hereby say that STAN MARSH will FOREVER be STRAIGHT!" I reach out and touch his forehead, which is glistening with sweat. "By the POWER of I, KENNY, the HETEROSEXUAL LORD, I COMMAND YOU to be STRAIGHT!" My hand falls. "You are HEALED, STAN! I SAVED YOU!"

"You SAVED Me? THANK YOU!" he practically bows at my feet, making me blush slightly.

"DUDE!" he yells suddenly.

"WHAT!?"

"LET'S CALL KYLE!"

I freeze. "Dude. Kyle's GONE."

Stan frowns. "Oh, YEAH. Well….FUCK HIM!" He smiles and takes a large drink.

"YEAH! FUCK KYLE WEIRDSOUNDINGLASTNAME!"

"AND FUCK WENDY TESTIESONBURGERS!"

"YEAH! AND FUCK MY STALKER!"

"YOU SAID IT!"

We were silent a moment, before I asked Stan a question.

"Wanna watch BOOBS?"

"HELL YES!"

He clicked some buttons on the remote, but gave up when nothing happened to the TV. Annoyed, he crawled over and changed the channels manually, until we had reached the Pornography channel. We didn't have to pay for anything, since his dad had already bought it.

When Stan's parents came home, I can only imagine their shock. Stan and I were passed out on top of each other with the sounds of fake moaning filling the entire house. Beer bottles were strewn everywhere, and I'm pretty sure that my shirt was under the couch, considering I wasn't wearing it when Mrs. Marsh kicked me out.

Thus, (such a funny word), I walked out in the dark, my head full of thoughts, (none of which that made sense) and my body full of alcohol.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** Mmmm....drunk Stan and Kenny. Lot's of fun to write, even though at some points they sound high more than they sound drunk. Oh wells. Reviews are very appreciated!


End file.
